


Tiger

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Depression, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Johnlock - Freeform, Knifeplay, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sebastian and James have a weird twisted kind of relationship, Sebastian definitely loves James though, Smut, and James is weird so it's hard to tell, but not really lovers?, idk - Freeform, kind of boss and employee but also lovers?, kind of?, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 12:44:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two years after his "death", Moriarty comes back to Sebastian.-abandoned work-





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for deciding to read this, y'all!

The sound of The Gunshot rang in his ear as Sebastian Moran downed another glass of scotch. He slammed the glass down aggressively and pressed his hands against his temple. The anniversaries were always worse. It had been exactly two years since the incident and he wished he could just forget everything.

Sebastian gulped down drink after drink until his mind was fuzzy and the world was spinning. Through his blurred vision, he could see the big clock on the wall. 12:03. Two years and one day after the incident.

He headed home, too tired and too drunk to drink anymore. He limped down the dark alley and stumbled across the busy road, causing many drivers to curse at him angrily. He made it to his flat with only two close brushes with death. He collapsed onto the sofa and mumbled incoherently as he fell asleep.

As expected, Sebastian woke up to a pounding headache. He groaned and buried his head into the dusty cushions. His hangover was so bad that he could barely get out of bed for a drink of water. 

He sat down at the kitchen counter, looking around his flat. James Moriarty's flat. Their flat. It was the same as the day his boss was alive. It was messy, with his things scattered around the floor, but he could clearly spot the Westwood coat that was draped over the chair, and the shirt that was scrunched up on the carpet. Both were gathering dust. Everything in the neglected flat was gathering dust, really.

But the part of the flat that was gathering the most dust was the bedroom.

Sebastian couldn't bring himself to sleep in it. The guns in the drawers brought back too many memories. So did the bloodstained carpet, the knife on the nightstand, and the creaky bed.

They spent most of their time in that room, scheming, talking, fucking, sleeping.

Sebastian got up shakily and for the first time in months, entered the bedroom. It was exactly how he had last seen it when he had ducked inside to get out a handgun. He surveyed the room from the door. 

The curtains were still closed. The broken lamp was still broken, and the white bedsheets were still stained with blood. 

His knees shook as memories came flooding back, penetrating the weak barriers he had so forcefully set up.

\+ + +

"Come here, Tiger," James purred, "kiss me."

Sebastian followed his orders, getting in bed and kissing James. He faltered when he saw the blade, but continued when his boss emitted a growl. 

He let himself be stripped down and he laid face-down on the bed obediently. And he barely flinched when James carved something on his back. He didn't quite enjoy it, per se, but James liked it and that's what mattered. This wasn't the first time it had happened, anyway. All he wanted was for James to be happy and satisfied.

James must have been in a good mood that day, because afterward, he kissed Sebastian tenderly and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. 

He didn't bother trying to look at what was written on his back the next morning. He didn't really care. As long as he had James with him, he was satisfied.

\+ + +

But James wasn't with him, and he wasn't satisfied. He was less than satisfied. He was broken. 

Sebastian forced himself to turn on the lights of the bathroom and take off his shirt. He turned around and then strained his neck to read the words carved into his back.

_I'M SORRY_, it read. 

It took a moment for the words to register, and then he was on the floor, sobbing.


	2. two

Sherlock Holmes was back.

Sebastian's fury rivaled the emotions he felt when James had died.

He was so fucking angry that he couldn't think straight.

Sebastian hadn't contemplated killing John Watson in months. He hadn't even been keeping tabs on him. 

For the first time in months, Sebastian thought about killing John Watson. A smile appeared on his face as he imagined the pain and horror Holmes would feel when he found his friend dead. He wanted Holmes to feel the pain he felt. But ultimately, he decided against it. His boss had told him to leave Watson alone if Holmes had jumped, after all. He would follow those orders. 

The anger that Sebastian had first felt when he learned of Sherlock Holmes's return slowly morphed into pain. James Moriarty had given him a meaningful life. He gave him something to live for, but now he was dead. Sebastian felt so _helpless_. He was falling apart.

The return to his favorite bar was inevitable. He greeted the bartender, Kelsey, without much enthusiasm and asked for his usual. Kelsey looked at him with what seemed like a mix of concern and curiosity as she poured him his scotch.

Sebastian lost track of time, and he didn't look up from his glass when someone took a seat next to him.

"Hey," the voice said. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gave a shrug and continued his mindless staring at his glass of scotch.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he realized that the face looked similar. Too similar. It was the face he had seen through his scope. It was the face that he had stalked for weeks after his boss's death. It was John Watson.

A spark of anger returned.

"John Watson," Sebastian glowered.

"Uh, yes, that's me. Erm, and you are?"

Should he answer truthfully? Or give him a fake name? He contemplated.

"Sebastian."

"Nice to meet you, Sebastian," Watson stuck out his hand, which he shook reluctantly.

"What brings you here, John?" The question was innocent enough.

"Well, I'm still having trouble believing that my best friend is back from the dead, so," he just shrugged. 

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "You mean Sherlock Holmes, I'm assuming?"

"Yes, him. How did you know?"

"I read your blog. And the news," Sebastian lied through his teeth.

"Right, well," Watson said. "What brings _you_ here?"

"My, uh, friend, I guess, is dead."

Watson's face blanched. "I-I'm so sorry. It, uh, must be hard hearing me talk about Sherlock when your friend just died."

"Not really," Sebastian lied. "It was quite a while ago."

"Still," Watson said. "I'm sorry. Let me buy you a drink."

The doctor wasn't such an unpleasant person, Sebastian decided at two am as he headed home. But he still felt the grief. And he was still angry at Watson and Holmes. He felt utterly broken. Nothing would change that.

When he reached his flat, he was sober enough to notice that the door was unlocked. He was positive he had locked in on his way out, though.

He was stupid; out of practice. He didn't have any weapons on him. He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, and then decided to go in. What the hell, he didn't even care. What did he have to lose, anyway? He strode in confidently because he wasn't about to go out like a coward. He awaited the bullet to the head, but it never came. 

Sebastian squinted, and then gave up. He flicked on the lights and almost gasped at the sight, because what he was expecting was a killer, not _him_.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Did you miss me, Tiger?"


	3. three

"S-sir?"

Sebastian was rooted to where he was standing. He stared in astonishment at the figure standing in the living room.

James Moriarty turned slowly to face Sebastian.

"Come here, Tiger," he said.

For a moment, Sebastian panicked because his legs didn't seem to be working. They were firmly planted to the ground. When they started moving, he let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"I missed you," James smiled his familiar smile as he stroked Sebastian's face gently. "How long has it been?"

"Two years," Sebastian whispered breathily. 

Suddenly, James gripped Sebastian's neck tightly. Tight enough for it to be uncomfortable, but not cutting off his oxygen. He studied Sebastian's pleading, broken eyes with a dark look, and then he let go.

James chuckled. "You need me, Sebby, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Sebastian nodded frantically, in the frightening thought that James might leave. "I need you, sir."

"That's nice to hear," James grinned maniacally.

Sebastian wasn't quite sure if this was a dream, hallucination, or hell, even real, but his heart was pounding as James lead him into their shared bedroom. 

The following events felt like an ecstatic high. The creaky bed was put to use again as the two bodies entangled. 

Sebastian gripped his boss's body as James went faster and rougher. Crescent-shaped marks were all over his body, some of them bleeding lightly, but they felt _good_. He moaned loudly as James grabbed his hips. They hadn't fucked in two years, and the abstinence led to an even bigger release. Then, they went another round, then another, until Sebastian was gasping and shuddering.

"What's the matter, Tiger?" James said mockingly. He stroked Sebastian, making him moan. "Only three rounds? Come on, you can do better than that. Remember Christmas Eve? We must have gone five times, at least."

"Please, sir," Sebastian replied helplessly. "I can't."

James fake-pouted as he pulled out, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel guilty that he couldn't keep up. Sebastian buried his face into James's bare chest and placed a careful hand on his side.

"Please don't leave," he mumbled before letting the exhaustion take him under.


	4. four

The next morning, Sebastian knew that he needed to tread carefully. James wasn't in bed when he woke up, and once he got his senses into gear, he could hear the sound of pacing coming from the kitchen.

James had a few different types of paces. The slow pace, aka the one used for dramatics. Usually just for show, nothing too dangerous. Then there was the accented pace. James accented every other step. Usually used while thinking and brainstorming. And last of all, there was the fast pace, the one he was doing at the moment. The angry one. The threatening one.

Sebastian got out of bed quietly and tried to make himself look decent in the mirror before going out to the kitchen.

"Good morning, sir," he said quietly.

No reply.

"Have you had breakfast yet? Would you like me to make some?"

James gave a distracted nod, all the while pacing. Sebastian felt relief flooding through him. James wasn't mad at him.

Sebastian got out the ingredients to make James's favorite meal; creamy pesto pasta. James had a weird policy of not eating breakfast foods during breakfast. Sebastian threw the penne into the pot and stirred, looking over his shoulder every few minutes. He cooked carefully, making sure that the first meal he made for his boss in a long time was perfect. He measured the exact amount of sauce and put the finished meal on the best plates they had. 

"Breakfast is ready, boss," Sebastian said, placing the plates down on the table. "You should come eat."

James sat down at the table unspeaking and picked up the fork.

"I'm going out today, Tiger," James said as he stabbed the pasta aggressively. "Got some business to take care of."

"When should I expect you back?" Sebastian's heart dropped a little. He had just gotten James back, and he was leaving again. What if he never came back?

"Around two. We can have a late lunch."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Sebastian answered.

For a moment, he was afraid that James would call him out for lying, but all James did was look at him with raised eyebrows before taking another bite.

James left almost immediately after breakfast. He put on the coat that had been gathering dust and slipped out of the shared flat without a second glance. Sebastian just stood there, in the middle of the flat, alternating glances between the door and the clock. It was twelve when he finally decided to do something productive. He washed the plates, and then took a shower. He then vacuumed the entire apartment from corner to corner, from door to door. He dusted the furniture and threw the dirty clothes into the wash, and when he was done, he did fifty push-ups. After the entire ordeal, it was ten past two, and James wasn't back.

Sebastian paced around the sofa, just like James had done in the morning. When he got tired of that, he got out the cleaning supplies again and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces and cleaned the toilet. 

At half-past two, James still wasn't back and Sebastian began to panic. Worry piled up inside of him as he thought of all the things that could have gone wrong. His boss could have been kidnapped. He could have been killed. He could have been tortured. He could have been arrested. He could have left. He could have left Sebastian all alone again.

Tremors ran across his body as he collapsed into a shaking heap on the ground. What if James was never coming back?

Then, the door flew open and James walked in, whistling to the tune of Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees. Sebastian looked up and relief filled him, as well as anger.

"What are you doing on the floor?" James asked. "And what were you doing? The entire flat smells like lemon."

"You're late," Sebastian said through clenched teeth.

James looked up at the clock on the wall. "Oh, yes, I suppose I am. Only forty minutes, though."

"You're _late_. I thought you were gone! Never coming back! And now you just stroll in, whistling, acting like nothing's wrong!"

"Nothing _is_ wrong, Tiger. I'm a bit late, so what? I'm not a psychic, I can't predict how long it would take. You're overreacting. What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?!" Sebastian exploded. "You're asking me what's the matter? You fucking left me, James. For two fucking years, I thought that you were dead. And now, you think that things are just going back to the way they were? Hate to break it to you, but that's not going to happen. I'm gonna need an explanation."

James had never looked so small and guilt-ridden before, Sebastian almost felt sorry. And then he wasn't, because that infuriating smile was back on James's face. 

"I did this for you, Tiger," James whispered menacingly, taking a step closer to Sebastian. "You think I killed myself and then made Sherlock Holmes jump _just_ for my amusement? I was protecting you. I was keeping the Holmes brothers far away from you."

"I don't want to be protected!" Sebastian exclaimed. "I wanted to be with you!"

"I don't care," James's eyes flashed angrily. "I will not stand by and let Holmes take you."

With that, James stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> their first fight! we all know that james and seb are both very stubborn. will they get over it?


	5. five

"Tiger," James whined. "I'm sorryyy."

He was ignored. 

"Tiger, I said that I was sorry. What else do you want me to do?"

He was ignored again.

"Look. I really mean it, Sebby. I feel terrible about what happened. I'm really, sincerely, sorry."

"No. I don't think you are, James," Sebastian said. "You're just sorry because you're bored now and you want my attention."

"That's not true! I really feel terrible about what happened. Please forgive me."

"James, you don't understand what it's been like for the past two years. You don't know how hard it's been without you, thinking that you were dead and that you were never coming back. And then you did come back, and that's terrifying."

James's brown eyes widened at the confession. He reached out and placed a hand on Sebastian's chest. Silently, Sebastian sighed deeply and pulled him in for a hug.

"I'll never leave you again."

That night, Sebastian forgave James. _Forgive but don't forget_, his mother always said. From then on out, they continued life as normal. In the following months, the couple kept low, doing the job from home. It was almost exactly like life before the fall. 

"I'm hungry," James said distractedly. He had been like that all day since he left the house in the morning.

"What do you want?"

"Surprise me."

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up. James normally had a very specific set of instructions, especially when it came to food. Just two days ago, he had pitched a fit because Sebastian had used regular olive oil instead of the organic extra virgin olive oil from Italy.

Sebastian got out the pancake mix and the waffle maker. James was strictly a no pancakes person.

"Dinner is served," he announced as he put the carefully arranged plates down on the table. "Waffles with a side of mashed potatoes and strawberries."

"Thank you, Tiger. It looks delicious."

Once again, Sebastian's eyebrows shot up when James did not complain about the mashed potatoes.

"You know," Sebastian said as they finished their meals. "You can tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," James replied briskly. 

Sebastian never could tell when James was lying, but he was suspicious.

"You're being honest?"

"Yes, really. Now, go get ready for bed. I'll clear up the plates."

Okay, James was definitely lying. He _never_ cleared the plates. All the housework was left to Sebastian. It was an unsaid agreement.

"Really, James, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing, Sebastian. Now go to bed."

"You're not my mother, and I'm not a child," Sebastian retorted. "What the hell is going on, James?"

James took the plates and almost threw them into the sink in anger. When he turned back around, Sebastian could see tears forming in his eyes. They stared at each other.

"Sebastian," James mumbled. "Go to bed. Please."

"No."

"Please."

"No," Sebastian yelled. "There is something obviously wrong here, so you're going to share it with me. I can help you."

"You can't," James shook his head.

"I can," Sebastian said stubbornly.

"No you can't," James finally broke out in tears. "It's reality."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to die, Sebastian. I'm going to die."


	6. six

"You're not going to die," Sebastian said rationally.

"I'm so sorry, Sebby," James sighed. 

"You're not," Sebastian answered stubbornly. "You won't die."

"Tell me. How will you fight off cancer? With a gun?"

"You can fight off cancer," Sebastian replied. "We'll go to the hospital today. We're going to get treatment options for you. You're going to get better. You won't die."

"Maybe," James started slowly. "Maybe this is Nature's way of telling us that it's finally time."

Sebastian grabbed James's wrist and growled. "Stop bullshitting around. It seemed like time for you to go when you fucking _shot_ yourself, but you lived. You're going to survive this, James. I promise."

Almost a week later, Sebastian forced a reluctant James to the hospital. He waited restlessly for the doctor to finally meet with them.

"Mr. Morrey?" a woman dressed in white scrubs asked. 

"That's us," Sebastian hauled James up. "Don't scare her off. She could just be the one to cure you."

James just scowled. 

They were led into a small room. James perched up on the examination table and Sebastian sat down on the stool next to it. 

"Hello, Mr. Morrey," the doctor said as she flipped through James's charts. "My name is Dr. Kim."

"What can we do about James's cancer?" Sebastian got straight to the point. He did not care for pleasantries. "There _are_ options, right?"

"Well, the most common way of treating brain tumors is by surgery. Radiation is not a possible option, and chemotherapy would not act fast enough to stop the tumor from growing. Surgery is the only option here, but it will be very risky. I'm very sorry, Mr. Morrey. The chances of surviving this is slight."

"Well, there you have it," James drawled. "I'm going to die. We can go now."

"Shut up, James," Sebastian's eyes set aflame. "But it could work, right, Dr. Kim? James could survive?"

"It is an unlikely possibility."

"How risky is this, exactly?"

"Well, we would have to run some more tests first. Scans, CTs, basic procedures. There are risks in all surgery, of course. But this is procedure particularly is going to be a very long and difficult surgery. Fatal, even. And if he makes it through, there are still chances of comas, memory loss, seizures, and infections, just to name a few. I advise you to think this through very carefully."

Sebastian's head drooped. "And are you sure surgery is the only option?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, Mr. Morrey."


	7. seven

Sebastian cried softly as he shook his head. James sat next to him, rubbing his back soothingly. They had gone through every possible option, good and bad. They talked with specialists and doctors and even more doctors. They read pamphlet after pamphlet, book after book, article after article. And the only thing that they got from it was the fact that James's cancer was nearly untreatable. It was too much for Sebastian.

"I don't understand," James said. "I thought you wanted me to get the treatment. You wanted me to get better."

"Yes, but not when your life is on the line," Sebastian wiped away his tears. 

"I'm going to die anyway, with or without the treatment. I just— I thought that you may want me to try, at least."

"If you do this surgery," Sebastian started. "If you do this, you might die. Without it, you could live for another year."

"So," James clarified, "I shouldn't do the surgery?"

Sebastian sobbed. "What if the surgery cures you? What if you don't do the surgery and you die in a year, when you could have lived for longer?"

James sighed and pulled Sebastian closer. 

"It's okay, Tiger," he murmured. "We have time to think this over. We don't have to decide now."

"What if we take too long to decide and the window of opportunity passes?" 

"Stop saying what if, Sebby. We have time. We'll be fine."

"No we won't."

James put his hands on both sides of Sebastian's face and forced Sebastian to face him. 

"Don't stress. We're going to be okay." He leaned in to kiss Sebastian.

With a sniff, Sebastian kissed back, relishing the feeling of James's lips against his, but pulled back as a sudden panic overrode the pleasure. What if that would be the last time they ever kissed? What if he wouldn't wake up in the morning?

Sebastian had never felt so sad, angry, and helpless. Even when he had thought that James was dead, he didn't feel this helplessness that was soaking every bone in his body. He felt anger and sadness, but he accepted that his partner was dead. He was so helpless. Now, Sebastian had no idea how to deal with his emotions. 

"I wish," Sebastian said. "I wish that I could stop feeling all this— all of these emotions."

James stared critically into his lover's eyes. He slipped his hands into Sebastian's.

"Emotions aren't bad things," James finally said.

"Quite hypocritical, coming from you," Sebastian snorted. "You used to hate feeling."

"That was— that was before you came along." James stood up abruptly. "Now, stop moping, Sebby. It's not the end of the world. Wipe your tears, let's go out."

Hand in hand, the couple went to their favorite Italian restaurant, just around the corner of their block. James ordered the pesto, as always, but Sebastian didn't get anything. 

"Stop watching me eat," James complained jokingly. "It's getting on my nerves."

"Sorry," Sebastian smiled sadly. "I was just— I'm just thinking."

James gave him a knowing look before grabbing Sebastian's empty plate and piling it with some of his pasta. 

"Eat. I can't finish it, anyways."


	8. eight

The thought of James's looming death made Sebastian desperate. He couldn't unwind.

Dr. Kim had told the couple that as time went on, the tumor would affect James's decision-making skills. And indeed, James was becoming more and more impulsive. He was, as many people call it, living in the moment. This made Sebastian even more desperate for a way out of the mess. But there was none. There were two options: a risky surgery that may kill him instantly, or slow, inevitable death.

The thought of it made Sebastian burst out into tears.

"Seb, please," James said. "Don't cry. I know it's hard, but it's the course of life."

Sebastian glared at him through tears. "You're dying, James. _Dying_. And you have the nerve to tell me not to cry? This is not the course of life. This is fucked up. You are dying and you're acting like there are no options. You're giving up. And James Moriarty never gives up. What's wrong with you?"

"There _are_ no options. Surgery could be fatal, you heard the doctor."

"But there's a chance... and what about chemotherapy?"

"It's too slow-acting," James rubbed Sebastian's back in circles. "I'm not giving up, Tiger. I'm simply accepting the fact that this is nature. Death is what happens to everyone, eventually."

"Shut up," Sebastian shook James's hand away. "No. You're giving up. You gave up."

He stormed out of the flat, leaving James alone on the couch.

James rubbed his temples and let out a huge sigh. _Sebastian is quite the drama queen_, he thought.

But there was a nagging in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Sebastian.

_You're definitely giving up._

_You're a coward._

_You're too weak to fight for your life, just like all of those people that you killed. You're weak._

_Sebastian's going to be all alone._

"Shut up."

_He's going to be devastated. He'll be depressed again._

_If he kills himself, it'll be your fault._

"Shut the hell up!" he yelled at himself. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

He grabbed a couch cushion and tore it in half before flinging it halfway across the flat. He grabbed another one and stomped on it furiously.

_You're not good enough for Seba—_

"Shut up!" he screeched. "I didn't fucking ask for this!"

James grabbed his coat and stormed out the flat, in a similar manner that Sebastian had ten minutes earlier. James signaled over a taxi and glared at the driver whenever he drove too slow. When they got to the front of the hospital, he threw a couple of bills at the driver before pushing past a crowd of people to get inside.

"James Morrey," he told the person at the counter. "I have a brain tumor, and I want surgery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c l i f f h a n g e r
> 
> ~
> 
> go check out my wattpad: littlestqr  
and my tumblr: inner-egg-pong


	9. nine

Sebastian stormed into his regular bar and ordered a scotch, just as he had when James had been "dead".

"Haven't seen you in a while," Kelsey said as she poured his drink. "What brings you back?"

"Relationship problems."

"Ah," she nodded knowingly. "Which is it? Cheating girlfriend? Crazy ex?"

"Definitely crazy," Sebastian muttered, "but it's a boyfriend."

"Oh. I've had a boyfriend like that. My advice? Leave. I promise you, it will save you from a lot of hardship."

Sebastian tilted his mostly empty glass and just sighed. "It's easier said than done."

"I know," Kelsey replied. "I thought that leaving Dominic would be impossible. And it was hard. But I'm much happier now. Yes, I work at a bar, and I live in a small flat, with two other roommates, but I'm free. It was hard, but it's worth it."

Sebastian took a taxi back to his flat and started gathering up his things. He took one of James's expensive suitcases out of the closet and threw everything in there. His sniper, handgun, a few pairs of clothes, a fake id, cash, and a few miscellaneous objects. His phone rang, but he ignored it.

He locked up the flat and threw the key out of the window and into the garden. Everything was a blur, and only when he arrived at Birmingham did he realize what he had done. He stood in front of the train station, debating whether to go back or not.

_"It was hard, but it's worth it,_ Kelsey's words rang in his mind.

"I'm not going back," he muttered to himself. "I'm freeing myself."

Twenty minutes later, Sebastian found himself checking into a motel.

"It's a new era," he reminded himself whenever the thought of going back popped up. "I have to get away. Leave James. I can do this."


End file.
